Superm-woman
by Miki Mae
Summary: Cathy is a young journalist at the Daily and she encounters a crime too terrible to be real. With hidden talents and a few cards up her sleeve can she save herself? Rated M for future purposes, this isn't for soft hearts.


The air was chilly with the core of night; all sounds heightened in the way that darkness usually amplified sound.

I rubbed my hands together to add some heat into my blue-tinted fingertips.

On the far side of the parking garage, I could see my beat up beetle under the flickering overhead light. The buzz and static coming from the faint, white-wash lights made me feel like being trapped in a bees' nest.

_Clip-clip_.

My feet tapped the stained concrete floor, the heels were creating blister's on my toes, as expected since they were new.

It was late enough that I was the last soul in the building's underground parking, just me and the bright yellow beetle missing a side mirror and the back fender. Despite the car's broken appearance, she was trustworthy; she had yet to breakdown on me.

Well, damn it was cold. I knew the sooner I got home the better, especially since the car's heating system was hell blown.

I glanced at my watch, the cracked face allowed me to see double the time. Two thin, black arms stretched parallel to each other, both reaching for an obscured number. But I knew the layout well enough, it was one o'clock. I hadn't meant to stay so long at the office, but Henri left early yesterday afternoon and I had swum up to my eye balls in his work as well. Mr Tate absolutely _hated_ when we handed in articles late.

Unfortunately, the main story had been about the Night Stalker, Manhattan's latest serial killer. The faceless man who bashed in the heads of unsuspecting victims in the dead of darkness.

Made me feel safe waltzing around in the dimly lit abandoned parking lot, sure did. I fought the urge to cringe, _the key to feeling safe is to pretend nothing could hurt you_.

Yeah, right.

This time a snort escaped, as if I believed in that bull-shark.

The truth was...I was petrified.

I'd done all the interviews with police and the victims' families. After researching this faceless monster for a month, I was a nervous wreck. Images of a dark ghost crawling through my window plagued my sleep. My day hours where no better simply because I knew night would come.

I mean, anyone who is _anyone_ knows that the nosy reporter in the movies always has the worst deal. And I've watched my fair share of horror movies. So, no, I did not feel safe, I felt exposed and raw.

My eyes darted from side to side, old habit.

Skin crawling, I almost expected someone to jump out from behind a pillar and run at me with a baseball bat. It was entirely silly. The security detail at the _Daily_ was flawless, no one could get in without a pass or clearance, and really, if Night Stalker had either he would have cut me off a week ago.

It was in times like this that I wished my name were Louis Lane, because at that moment the flickering light above my car sputtered and died out. My stomach curled in and I bit my lip to keep from whimpering. Superman would not be rushing in to rescue me though; my name was Cathy Street not Louis Lane.

Yes, I am well aware of the irony, but there was nothing funny at present.

Steeling myself, I crossed the last feet between the beetle and myself. No matter how much I tried to convince myself, I knew I was on the verge of throwing up my late lunch of sweet corn bread.

Trembling fingers squirmed around in my purse, keys, keys.

Where did I put them?

I forced myself to still, to take a deep breath and think.

In my jacket pocket…

Placing my purse on the roof of the car, I rummaged through my pockets, first the outer two then the secret inner pocket. Finally, my fingers closed around cool metal, the small contact eased my heart into normal mode, the frantic _thump-thump_ easing to a slow _thud_.

I laughed nervously at myself and shook my head; I needed to lay off the mystery novels, period. Alex Cross would have to forgive me but it would seem I needed to resort to some romance novellas for a short time.

Starting tomorrow, I assured myself.

I'd visit the dusty library down the road in my lunch break and find a pleasant, unthreatening Mr Darcy-type to bide my time.

Unlocking the car, I made a mental note to tell the security at the front desk about the blown light. I slipped in and automatically reached to put my purse on the passenger seat.

I did not have it on me.

Cursing my stupidity, I slipped from the car, leaving the keys in the ignition.

My ankle almost twisted with my hasty departure, I grabbed the roof for support and my purse when over the side. Hitting the ground and spilling all the useless contents. My phone clattered to the side, a tube of lip-gloss rolled under the car and everything else rather scattered wildly trying to escape.

I hobbled to the side and sighed.

Well…great…just great.

Scooping up most of it was relatively easy; it was the runaway gloss that made me scowl.

Was the tube worth getting down on my knees on the dirty floor? I looked down at my jeans; they were hopeless. I bent and placed my knees on the ground.

In the darkness I could barely make out the tube, it had rolled farther I had expected, nearly halfway. I reached out a hand, stretching and cringing at the awkward position.

Wouldn't it just be great if someone were to show up now? The thought made me cringe, I wanted to take it back but the old fear had already set in.

"Come to mama," I coaxed the lip-gloss.

I do not know how I knew, but I did. The increased shadow, the shuffle of steps, the deep rush of air.

I wasn't alone.

I bit my lip as I jerked backwards, my head slamming into the bottom of the car.

Pain exploded through my skull, I saw dancing stars for a moment.

Then there was something else, I _saw_ it.

On the other side of the car.

Slowly moving around, towards the front.

I knew I would not make it back in time. Therefore, I did the only thing I could do. I went on my stomach and slid beneath the beetle, my hair catching on metal.

The car creaked, shifted slightly.

Inside. The shadow was inside _my_ bloody car! Darn if that did not peeve me to great lengths. I shifted and curled my fingers; I was going to knock someone dead if they hurt my baby.

I _must_ have made a noise; it was the only thing that could have given me away, that minute moment of movement.

Because my head jerked, my hair stung my scalp, and my body dragged from beneath the car.

My hands grabbed at a tangle of wires, my heels scrapped at the cement and the ground cut at my cheek.

I let out a cry of horror, for the shadow was still on the other side of the car.

What was clutching at me then?


End file.
